


old familiar way

by 5sputnik5



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Depression, Domestic, Enlightenment tm, First Person, Injury Recovery, M/M, Self Esteem Issues, not exactly a sneakeos fic but it plays a role
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 05:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12149814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5sputnik5/pseuds/5sputnik5
Summary: sneaky's life after his lcs career





	old familiar way

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the of Montreal song of the same name
> 
> unbeta'd also

Several years ago, I took a stumble down the stairs of the C9 house that knocked me unconscious. I woke in the hospital some time later, hardly able to move or speak. I could only move my eyes around. I was terrified; I thought my life was over. I thought I was paralyzed for good. Luckily this wasn't the case, but at the time, I had never felt more scared for my life. 

I remember Jack, Reapered, and all of the C9 guys had all been in the room with me. They had fetched the doctor as soon as my eyes opened. They were eager to talk to me, but their excitement turned quickly to dismay when they realized I couldn't talk.

When the doctor came and examined me, he put me through a series of tests, things like blinking if I understood, and following his finger with my eyes. He asked me if I felt okay, if I was able to move or talk; and I blinked once for ‘no’ to both questions. Sometimes he would say something, but I would be unable to understand. It was a strange feeling, having words just go straight through my head like that.

After marking stuff down on his clipboard, he explained to me what happened. Contractz found me at the bottom of the staircase unmoving, bleeding from my head. Judging by my symptoms, he suspected I damaged my cerebrum, resulting in the inability to move or speak. He told me it was possible I could recover, but it was unlikely I would be the same as I once was. I absolutely hated the looks of pity they gave me. I remember wanting to yell, but I was trapped inside myself. 

Jack kept trying to talk to me, the panic in his voice becoming more and more pronounced, but it got overwhelming quickly. The doctor ushered them all out and let me rest, which I was grateful for. The following day I could move my fingers a little, but overall I felt no different. Will—at the time I still called him Meteos—came to visit me, bringing flowers. If I could have, I would've laughed. I never thought he would be a flowers type of person. He didn't try to coax words out of me as much as the other guys did. He simply sat by my bedside, talking about mundane things to pass the time. Sometimes we would just sit in silence.

His presence was comforting; it was calm and optimistic compared to everyone else’s aura of fear and sadness. It was safety, reassurance. He visited at least twice a week every week until I was released.

Word spread quickly through the community about my condition. I received flowers, chocolates, and other small gifts by the masses. Most of them came from fans begging Jack to deliver it to me. I got get-well cards from most of the other NA LCS teams, and even some from EU. At such a low point in my life, the thoughtfulness of the community made me tear up many times over. 

The weeks I spent bedridden dragged on agonizingly slowly. A CAT scan proved the doctor’s suspicions correct; there was damage to my cerebrum and cerebellum, impairing my movement, speech, and speech comprehension. Later on, I was formally diagnosed with auditory processing disorder.

I made my recovery bit by bit, first regaining my ability to speak, and then to move. At first, I was only able to say single words, and I had to repeat them over and over in my head until I could make my lips move. It was rough, and often times I felt like lashing out from frustration. It would seem like I was making progress as my words started to flow easier, but then a certain word or sentence would be caught in my throat for no reason. 

As for moving, that fixed itself rather smoothly. It was only a week or so until I could stand up and walk, even if the nurses had to help me to do so. They had me do leg exercises everyday, and it made me feel pretty stupid, honestly. I got through it, though. I could walk again, but for a couple days I had to use a walking cane. I don’t need it as much anymore, but it’s still comforting to have it with me. Some days are more unsteady than others. I still had issues understanding speech on occasion, but the doctors said nothing could be done about it. It was hard to be upset about it though, because I could move again! 

After two and a half months, I was discharged from the hospital. The team was with me throughout all of my recovery. Jack threw me a party when I returned to the house, which was a nice surprise. It was fun, but there was an underlying thought that had been on my mind since my time in the hospital: My League of Legends career was over. My reflexes would never be what they once were, and my issues processing speech would make me a huge liability. 

I expressed my concerns to Jack and Reapered the following day. Reapered had assumed as much, but Jack insisted on having me play a few scrims just to be sure. They went terribly. My teammates constantly had to repeat what they said so that I could understand. I didn't win a single laning phase out of three matches. I frequently felt confused during teamfights, not knowing what to do. Jack finally conceded after that, although I appreciated that he wasn't willing to let me go so quickly.

First I made my announcement to the team, then on twitter. Jensen seemed the most upset about my retirement. I felt kind of bad, as I was his closest friend on the team, but I didn't know what I could say to him. There was nothing that could be done.

People on twitter asked me what my plans were. I told them I hadn't really thought about it, which was true. The only thing I had ever considered after my LCS career was returning to school, but I didn't even know what I wanted to study. Jack told me I could stay in the C9 house for as long as I needed, an offer I graciously accepted. 

I adjusted quickly to my condition. For the most part, everybody treated me the same. If they had to repeat themselves or help carry something for me, they did it without a second thought. Not much had really changed as far as I was concerned. If anything, I learned to appreciate their patience and compassion a lot more than I had before. I couldn't imagine any other team being so kind and caring to me.

I spent a week lounging around doing nothing, enjoying the freedom of not being bedridden by, of course, staying in bed all day. I tried to hang out with Will a lot more than before, something I had missed. I know I didn't show it a lot, but he really was my best friend. Being around him just felt so homely and comfortable, but LCS had come in the way of that. It was nice to be able to enjoy that feeling again. 

After that, I started to feel restless. I was so used to the schedule of wake up, scrim, stream, and go to bed, that I didn't know what to do with myself. LCS was my life, and without it I just felt like a blank canvas.

After some thought, I decided I didn't want to stay in Los Angeles. I wanted to start a new life somewhere else, away from the past. I contacted my mom, asking her if I could move in with her while I got my life on track. She said yes, and the following week I packed my things. Jensen looked like he was about to cry when I told him I was moving out. Will seemed sad, but he told me to do what made me happy. That was all the support I needed.

The team, including Hai and the other legacy members, saw me off at the airport. It got really emotional. It felt like I was leaving my family, but I knew this would be for the best. I made a point to tell them I would stay in contact, in hopes Jensen would perk up a little. Even if he did, it wouldn't matter in the end—Jensen retired later that year. I couldn't help but feel that it was somewhat my fault.

So, I lived in Florida with my mom and my sister Emma for a couple months. For the most part I was a hermit, spending every day holed up in my room because it was either too hot outside or too boring. I didn't touch League for a while; it felt like a sad reminder of the tragic way my career ended. I couldn't even bear to play an ARAM game. I streamed less and less until I stopped completely. I thought I would feel bad about it, but it actually felt kind of liberating. No longer did I have to uphold that cheap meme-lord persona that was so closely associated with me. 

I spent most of my time playing World of Warcraft with Will, at his invitation. We would play for hours and hours at a time without a care in the world. Even when we weren't playing, we would just talk--talk about everything and anything. It felt like I was 15 again, blowing off my homework to play League non-stop. I was pretty happy, and Will and I grew close in those days, closer than we had been back in California. It was nice, for a time.

My mom didn't approve of my sedentary lifestyle however, and started forcing me to go outside. I took interest in her garden in the backyard, and she started asking me for help tending to it from time to time. It wasn't long before I started caring for the entire thing myself. Even though it was hot and frequently humid, I found a kind of peace in caring for living things. 

I actually learned quite a bit about gardening in general; mostly from my mom, but as I started doing more research, I started to get fairly knowledgeable on the subject. Emma started calling me ‘Flower Boy’, and when I told Will, he started calling me that too.

The fun only lasted for a couple months though, and eventually I began to feel restless once again. In February 2018, I got a job at a local floral shop to try and give my life some structure. I started going on walks whenever I got bored in an effort to shave off the extra pounds I had gained. It wasn't enough for me, though. My mom suggested I go back to college, an idea I was averse to. She didn't seem to care though, and soon it turned from ‘suggesting’ to ‘pressuring.’ After a while I couldn't take it. I knew I had to move out, but the pay I made at the floral shop wouldn't be enough to support myself. 

That’s when Will offered to rent an apartment with me. I was shocked at first; why would he move all the way across the country on a whim? I asked him just that, and he simply said he was sick of Los Angeles. I was skeptical, because I knew he went out with friends often and generally enjoyed his life there. He would be leaving a lot behind.

Nonetheless it was an enticing offer, and I didn't read too much into it back then. Will was my best friend, there was no way I'd any issue living with him. I could dip into my savings to support us both until he found a job, and in truth, I longed to see him. I had taken his friendship for granted back in Los Angeles, and I wanted a chance to make it up to him. At the time, I saw all pros and no cons. 

Within the next two months, we made our plans to move. I got my driver’s license and bought myself a used car, Will started packing and getting his resume in order. We settled on a small two-bedroom apartment, and he flew down to Florida in mid April. That's where we started our new life together.

For the next year, life was simple. Will got a job at a music store, something he found miraculous because according to him, he hadn't picked up an instrument in at least three years. He made some money on the side from streaming, which we used to buy furniture and other decorations. I spent most of my personal money on house plants, trying my best to replicate having a garden. Will picked up guitar, and he seemed genuinely happy playing. It wasn’t long before he started playing around with music theory and writing songs of his own. For a while, I was content with life. 

All thoughts of my brain injury had almost completely disappeared. My slower reflexes and comprehension issues had seemed so normal to me, I almost forgot they weren't. I was only reminded of them when I decided to go back to school in August. Life had become so stable, I thought I could handle it. I studied botany, a choice that surprised no one. 

Initially, the hardest part was balancing work and school, but I figured that out eventually. My manager was kind enough to shift around my schedule to accommodate my classes. The workload was challenging; I had been out of school so long, I had forgotten most of the math and science necessary for the courses. I frequently lost track of what the professors would say, and there's no way I would have dared to ask them to repeat themselves.

I felt awkward stumbling to my classes. I hated the stares people would give me when they saw my walking cane. I suspect people thought I only had it for attention, or something like that. I didn’t bring it as often, if only to lessen the attention it brought. I made few friends, as I became embarrassed to talk about my brain trauma. My self esteem dropped quickly and every day became harder and harder to enjoy. 

The last straw came near the end of the first semester. I had been talking to this girl I liked for a while, when I finally racked up the courage to ask her out. She laughed, and said she “couldn't date someone like me,” gesturing to my cane. I saw her and her friends later that day, giggling about “that retard in botany.” I dropped out the next day.

I suppose it was a wake-up call. I'm not like other people, and I never will be. I found it difficult to come to terms with it. So what if I had to ask people to repeat themselves? If I chose to walk with a cane? Did that really make me so much more different? It did apparently, and in hindsight, I shouldn't have been so naive about my condition. Of course people would treat me differently; brain damage isn't the same as breaking a bone. I was so used to being around the same people that were used to me, it was a shock to be around those who weren't.

My confidence took a steep drop after that, and I slowly spiraled into depression. I could only ever see the differences between me and the people I talked to. I felt alienated, a burden to everyone I met. I had no aspirations, no real goals in life, no plans. Back in Los Angeles, my friends had gotten jobs at Riot as casters or analysts; others became coaches, some were studying in college. I felt like a failure compared to them. The higher you are, the harder you fall as they say.

I started going out less and less, until the only time I'd ever leave the apartment was to drive to work. I came close to quitting several times, actually. It was hard to bear the looks customers would give me. My paranoia might have made this part up, but I started to notice the way my co-workers would avoid me, too. 

Eventually, I stopped taking care of my plants, and a lot of them died. I talked to Will about how I felt, and he spent a lot of time trying to comfort me, which I'll forever be grateful for. He would spend most, if not all of his free time with me—playing me songs, listening to me vent, or sometimes we would just cuddle. I enjoyed the latter the most, and although I don’t remember how we escalated to that point, it didn’t seem weird for either of us. It was normal.

At some point, I began to develop feelings for Will. I would've flirted with him, maybe even told him my feelings outright if I had any self-esteem left. I didn't do anything about how I felt. I couldn't fathom why someone as perfect as Will would date a retard. 

It still pisses me off, years later, about how such a stupid girl left me so broken inside. I try not to hold grudges, because they're not good for the soul as my mom liked to say, but I found it difficult to let it go. 

Regardless, I pined after Will for a while. I thought that my crush would just go away, but it only grew and grew until I thought I'd go crazy. On a particularly bad day I was having, I thought I would finally snap from all the self-loathing I had let fester. I had a break down in the bathroom, locking myself in for a couple hours. I cried until my head threatened to explode from a headache and dehydration.

Will eventually heard me sobbing and urged me to come out. He tried talking to me, it sounded like he was begging, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. That made me cry more. After he realized I wouldn't come out, he finally left. I calmed down a little while and fell asleep on the bathroom floor.

When I woke up, my bones were sore from the bathroom tile. I was starving and my head was pounding, so I sucked up my pride and opened the door. Will must’ve fell asleep just outside, because he lunged at me in a bear hug as soon as it opened. He didn't say anything, just held me there tight in his arms until I pushed him off. I was too tired to just stand there, even with him holding me up. He offered to get me food, running off to make me something before I could respond. Boyfriend material, right?

While he was in the kitchen, I stumbled to his room and fell on his bed. I stared at the sandwich he had brought me; I couldn't bring myself to eat it. He seemed to understand and moved it to the bedside dresser without a word. He laid down with me, embracing me again. I remember the exact words he told me in that moment: “I know you won’t believe it, but I think you're perfect. I think you're beautiful.” 

I guess in that moment, my feelings spilled over. I told him I loved him, and that's when we shared our first kiss. I remember thinking my skin would catch fire; I was burning up all over. Cuddling was the norm for Will and I, but this was a whole other ballpark. That marked the start of our romance. He confessed to me later that he had harbored feelings for me for years now. “Sometimes it felt like I was over you, but within a few months I'd be head over heels again.” Then it started to make sense, why he would leave behind his life in Los Angeles for me, why he was always twice as patient and understanding as everyone else. Why he was still here after all this time.

For a while after that, it felt like I was living a dream. I had a boyfriend that I loved, a job that was somewhat enjoyable, and I was living comfortably. To top it all off, I started to accept myself again. I wanted to be a better boyfriend for Will, so I swore to myself I would try to break my cycle of self-pity. I tried to rebuild the person I was before I went back to college. I started exercising (as much as I was able to, anyway), bought some new plants to replace those that died, and started being more sociable. That was probably the most difficult challenge I've ever faced—forcing myself to be happy. 

I fell in love with Will a little more each day. I was never a religious person, but I thank God everyday for bringing him into my life. We had our disagreements on occasion, but overall he felt like my other half—I loved him with all my being, and I tried everyday to show him that. I was certain he felt the same. 

Life gradually started looking brighter, but it still felt as if I could be doing more. I decided to step out of my comfort zone and take up writing as a hobby, something that made me a lot happier than I had thought it would. I wrote poems and short stories, mainly things that told about my life or things I enjoyed. I took pride in my work, something that was new to me. For a while writing gave me purpose, but eventually it just became a quiet hobby. That’s not to say I stopped completely, but I just wasn’t as passionate about it anymore.

There are days where I still feel that familiar itch to get out there and do something. I considered getting into League of Legends again, but it had changed so much in the past years. It might as well have been a completely different game. Besides, I wanted to keep look forwards in life, not backwards. 

My mom told me I feel so restless because I need a family to take care of, a suggestion I rolled my eyes at. It was a lingering thought for a while, though. I never really considered myself a family person. Maybe Will was though, and he was too scared to bring it up? I came close to talking to him about it a couple times, but I always felt too embarrassed to breach the topic. I didn't think raising a kid with him would be good for us, anyways. We weren't really the type, I thought. Still, I think about it more than I'd like to admit.

Will suggested we take a vacation and travel, an idea that didn't sound half bad. Surely seeing what the world had to offer would inspire me, right? Unfortunately, there was no way we had the funds to undertake such a grand adventure. I wasn’t too upset, but it was still a bit of a let down. It felt like I was a hair’s width away from a solution. 

I remember, it was the day after that conversation when it hit me--or rather, I hit my head on it. I was walking through the living room, and I must’ve tripped over a wire or something, I never really bothered to get the details. My head landed right on the corner of the coffee table, knocking me out cold. I woke up in the hospital not much later. I had a fractured skull and I was a bit dizzy, but otherwise I was fine. 

Will told me I must’ve had a guardian angel by my side that I didn’t suffer any more brain damage than I already had. I remember telling him, “A guardian angel wouldn’t have let me slip in the first place!” I had been laughing, but he didn’t seem as jolly. Not at all, in fact. I thought he was just being a sad-sack at the time; it didn't occur to me how worried he must have been until much later. Frankly, I was just glad to still be a functioning person.

I don’t know what happened to me that day. As corny as it sounds, it felt like my eyes had been opened. Everything was so much more vibrant than it had been before. The trees, the buildings, the sights and sounds; it was all so colorful and new and exciting. I began to see the joy in everything. I wondered to myself, ‘How could I have been so upset with life when it offers so much?’ Looking back on it, I see why now. I was so result oriented, so focused on the big picture that I never took time to stop and appreciate the little details. Maybe I already knew that, but for whatever reason I wasn’t able to snap out of that mindset. It was an odd epiphany.

At first Will was baffled, then concerned about the sudden change in my outlook on life. When I told him about how new I felt, there was only concern in his eyes. That’s when I took a step back and tried to reevaluate what I was preaching. I realized I might have come on too strong with my new ideals, but in my defense, they were strong feelings. Still, such drastic change would have scared anyone. He must’ve thought I had gone mad.

It wasn’t long, maybe a week, before that period of euphoria faded. I had returned mostly to my old self—that is, not singing to the birds and trees all the time. Still, I felt a lot happier with my life as a whole, and I started to take more pleasure in the small things; something I’m sure Will liked the most. I did a lot of thinking during that time, and decided to just take life for what it was. I lived a comfortable life with someone I loved, why should I try to change anything? 

With that mentality, I felt much more at peace than any point before in my life. Every morning, I was grateful that such a weight was finally off my shoulders. Occasionally, I still get that twinge of restlessness I was oh-so familiar with, but I’ve learned to cope with it. All I know is if there ever comes a day where I'm really, truly content with my life, then I'm willing to wait for it.

**Author's Note:**

> hi thanks for reading i wrote this over summer and never posted it but i liked it alot so i am now


End file.
